


jamais vu.

by mihkrokosmos



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Abstract, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, But not quite, If You Squint - Freeform, Kinda, M/M, Magical Realism, Soulmates, Surreal, Weird, but not really, don’t psychoanalyse this, i don’t get it either, like very surreal, mentions of yukhei/yuqi, other dreamies are mentioned, the author wrote this instead of sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 00:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19878676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mihkrokosmos/pseuds/mihkrokosmos
Summary: jeno sees jaemin on a rainy day.alternatively;there’s a certain beauty in inevitability. they’re already on a collision course — everything else that happens is just collateral damage.





	jamais vu.

heaven cries, the first time jeno sees him. the rain came from nowhere, merciless, heavy sheets drenching the people unfortunate enough to get caught. jeno’s shirt clings to his skin, chills him to the bone. dark hair is plastered to his forehead, obscuring his vision — not like he can see much, anyway — and, fuck, he’s _freezing_. he’s being jostled from every angle when he glances across the street.

pink hair.

that’s what jeno sees. pink hair and piercing eyes. the figure is _dry_ , not a single drop of water marring his clothes. his hands are jammed into his pockets, posture relaxed. normal. jeno is _staring_ , and it’s rude, but the boy across the street is staring back. it occurs to jeno that he’s staring at something _behind_ him. he turns round — just to check — but nothing is there. nothing except more people rushing to shelter.

jeno turns back. the boy is gone.

“do you want to share an umbrella?” a voice murmurs into his ear.

fingers dance across the bare skin of jeno’s wrist, gripping it tightly before jeno can spring away in surprise. it’s the boy with pink hair. his lips are turned up into a small smile and jeno… jeno’s gone. bright eyes gaze inquisitively into his own oh. he never gave the boy an answer. 

“i don’t — i’m sorry, but i don’t have an umbrella,” jeno manages to reply, face flushing with embarrassment.

“i do,” the boy hums, eyes crinkling as his smile widens, “would you like to share?”

jeno nods, despite himself. somewhere, deep in his subconscious, a voice cries out in alarm. something is _off_ , but the boy with pink hair is still smiling and the rain is still pouring.

an umbrella opens up. the world splinters, fragments falling away in front of jeno’s eyes. he’s reminded of how toddlers try to complete puzzles; pieces fall into place, only to be shaken up once more. it’s horrifying and fascinating, watching reality warp. he might get addicted. he might be sick. colours twist and bend and break and jeno is standing outside his apartment block.

“looks like i’ll be dropping you off here, jeno,” the boy says, voice distant but warm as ever.

he’s not holding an umbrella and jeno never gave him his name.

“thank you,” he rasps out, his own words alien, “um, what’s your name? just… out of curiosity, i guess. i don’t know if i’ll see you again.”

the boy just shrugs, fiddles with the sleeves of a jacket he wasn’t wearing before.

“na jaemin,” he hums. jeno doesn’t think jaemin has ever spoken louder than a murmur, but he hears him all the same, “i’ll see you again.”

jeno nods awkwardly. he hunts around his pockets for his key — to save time later, like usual — and jaemin is gone when he looks up again. the street is a straight one, without a corner for quite a while. 

there’s no trace of pink hair.

☆

jeno is a student. he works part-time in a cafe. it’s quiet, usually, the loudest conversations between chenle and jisung. most customers are also students, rushing to classes or to work. nobody stays to chat. he doesn’t mind. not really.

“earth to jeno?” jisung yells, “ _helloooooo_? you’ve been so out of it! are you getting sick?”

maybe he is. getting caught in such a bad rainstorm a day ago would lead to a cold, right? he tells jisung this much, who just looks him up and down in confusion.

“hasn’t rained for a while. are you high? hey, chenle, does jeno look high to you? renjun was literally yelling at yukhei yesterday for being high on the job.”

jeno finds himself drying the same glass until it begins to squeak and the cloth chafes at his hands. he doesn’t work with anyone called yukhei. nobody works with anyone called yukhei.

a flash of pink hair passes by the oversized window. jeno’s head jerks up; the glass falls to the floor.

it doesn’t stop falling.

jeno reaches for it. it passes through his hand and he’s torn from the small cafe, watching the scene unravel like a loose thread. his coworkers disappear in ribbons of viscera, grotesque. jeno can’t wrench his gaze away from the new images flooding his vision.

he’s lying on his back. grass tickles his hands, poking at him like it’s asking him a question. he doesn’t dignify it with an answer. above him, the sunset is pink.

“are you alright?” a voice whispers. jeno doesn’t need to ask to know that it’s jaemin, “that was quite a fall? here, let me help you up.”

a hand is outstretched. jeno takes it. the scene shifts.

they stand in front of a fountain. the water is black, staining the stone ridges. it’s too dark to be dyed. it’s too thick to be _water_. it drags itself into waves and ripples caused by nothing, disrupting the expected stillness. jeno feels an overwhelming urge to touch it. to reach out and drown in it.

“ _don’t_.” jaemin breathes.

jeno doesn’t.

they’re back in the field, with jeno lying down. the sky is still pink, fading into darkness at the edges. he looks over at jaemin’s hair. his roots are coming in. jeno is exhausted. he never wants to leave.

“when will you let go?” someone asks. it’s jeno. he didn’t even realise he was talking, but his mouth continues on it’s own accord, “when will it end?”

he doesn’t know what _it_ is. doesn’t know what jaemin refuses to lay to rest. it occurs to him that he _does_ know. he knows, he just doesn’t know _what_ he knows. it’s exhausting, so he closes his eyes.

“you never asked me to,” jaemin mumbles, plaintive and pleading. it sounds like he’s reciting lines from a book, a shakespearean tragedy. jaemin has never shouted, but his words ring in jeno’s ears.

the words stir something inside him, something long forgotten. hidden. repressed. a broken record. an old argument, fought endlessly. it’s agonisingly familiar.

“did i have to?” he fires back, brows furrowed. he regrets his tone as soon as jaemin breaks eye contact.

nobody moves. jeno is in his flat and jaemin is gone.

☆

“hey, stranger,” yuqi grins at him as jeno browses the shelves of books, “it’s been a while, right?”

she knows him because she’s yukhei’s girlfriend. jeno still doesn’t know yukhei. the books seem to stretch on for miles. yuqi’s grin grows impossibly wider.

“yeah,” jeno replies, idle as he picks out a random tome with a black cover, “it’s been a while.”

nothing really happens when he opens the book. he’s not sure why he’s disappointed. it still looks like a good book, though. when he goes to pay for it, yuqi is gone. there’s a layer of dust on the desk and at the cash register. the book feels heavy in jeno’s hands. he should probably pay for it. jeno sets the book down on the desk, watches it shrivel in front of his eyes.

maybe it wasn’t such a good book. he’ll come back another time.

☆

_my words are wax_

_heavy, hot,_

_melting._

_you listen to me_

_loving, kind,_

_lying._

_our hands are not human_

_but they cannot hold_

_the burning secrets_

_my love._

“it’s a cute poem,” jaemin remarks, flipping the pages of a book with a black cover.

the cover matches his hair, jeno notices. it matches the midnight sky outside, too. he isn’t thinking probably when he reaches out to touch it. jaemin doesn’t flinch, just leans into the gentle tousling.

“why did you read that one?” jeno wonders.

he’s always asking questions around jaemin, always one step behind. it should bother him, but there’s only so much you can care about when you’re lying next to a strange boy in the middle of a main road.

the tarmac digs into jeno’s back. he rolls onto his side. he’s met with jaemin’s side profile, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights. the street is silent, devoid of movement altogether. jeno rolls, too. rolls until they’re nose to nose and jeno can see the depths of the boy’s dark eyes, dark enough to rival the hush of night surrounding them.

“jeno,” jaemin says. it’s not a question, or an answer. it is a statement.

the world falls away, melting and dissolving into empty space. they stay there, suspended in an expanse of black. the only thing jeno can feel his jaemin’s hand on his cheek, jaemin’s lips against his. 

it’s grounding.

☆

jeno’s back at work. the cafe is as lively as it always is — so, it’s as dead as a french revolutionary — but chenle is talking nonstop. it’s white noise, filling in the blanks of the canvas. jeno doesn’t mind, honestly. it’s soothing.

chenle’s voice fades away.

jeno continues as he always has, managing orders and cleaning glasses when there are glasses to clean. he doesn’t usually work at the cash register, but he does notice that it’s been left unmanned.

“where’s chenle?” he inquires as renjun passes by. 

he’s not that surprised when renjun asks ‘who?’.

“i’ll get donghyuck to take orders,” renjun sighs, “i think jisung snuck away again. it’s like i’m working with children, seriously.”

jeno laughs. he hasn’t seen jisung in months. he doesn’t know a donghyuck. this is normal. 

☆

they’re sitting on the edge of a rooftop. it’s winter in earnest now, snow falling steadily. it blankets their world in a white duvet, a little like a giant hug or a chokehold. jeno can’t tell which one.

jaemin is leaning his head on jeno’s shoulder, ashy grey hair tickling jeno’s face. it’s strangely calming, being so high up. grounding, just like everything else about jaemin.

“do you hate me?” jaemin asks.

he’s still whispering. his voice still carries.

jeno hums a little, lips pursed. the question is unsettling in its spontaneity. he thinks back to flashes of pink hair and pink sunsets, black fountains and crumbling books. the memories are blurry, unfocused, hazy.

“no.” 

the reply is simple. straight to the point.

“ _could_ you hate me?”

jeno frowns this time, sitting up straight and dislodging jaemin from his shoulder. it’s the hypothetical which throws him off-kilter — quite a feat, when you think about how nothing about this has been _on_ -kilter, if that’s a thing.

they’re back at the fountain with the black liquid. it’s moving in earnest now, bubbling and rippling and spitting. jeno takes a step back from it, or he tries to. his legs are numb.

“i’m sorry,” and jaemin is choking on his words.

there’s something smudged at the edge of his mouth. it’s black. jeno leans forward, wipes it off with a trembling hand, kisses jaemin with growing uncertainty. it’s all gone wrong.

“i’m sorry,” jaemin continues, he’s crying and his tears are black, “i keep getting the words wrong. i’m sorry, i’m sorry. i’ll get it, i promise. i will. i’m sorry.”

jeno wants to tell him _it’s all okay, really, it’s fine. nothing is wrong_ but something is very wrong because he can’t move, can’t speak, can’t breathe.

jaemin crumples, obsidian tears soaking through his white shirt. jeno watches. the fountain overflows.

☆

heaven cries, the first time jeno sees him. the rain came from nowhere, merciless, heavy sheets drenching the people unfortunate enough to get caught. jeno’s shirt clings to his skin, chills him to the bone. dark hair is plastered to his forehead, obscuring his vision — not like he can see much, anyway — and, fuck, he’s _freezing_. he’s being jostled from every angle when he glances across the street.

pink hair.

that’s what jeno sees. _dry_ , pink hair. the figure stares back at him, shoves one hand into his pocket and the other lifts in a sort-of wave.

the boy turns and walks away. 

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: gayleeknow  
> are you confused? that’s okay.


End file.
